


Friends

by Trotzkopf



Series: Cravings [4]
Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Feels, I should probably mention the sex - consider yourself warned, M/M, Mischief, Modesty "Maud" Gellafate (OC)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2019-03-01 20:59:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13303092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trotzkopf/pseuds/Trotzkopf
Summary: It's Monday and time to face reality. How will Vimes and Vetinari handle their first day as an official couple? The Times will tell.





	1. Sam's Monday

One of the strangest things about living in Small Gods was that it was quiet at night. Too quiet. Vimes kept waking up due to the lack of noise he associated with, “And all’s well”. How could it be well when it sounded like he was already in his grave? And the grave would probably be a lot noisier what with all the worms, grave robbers and zombies going about their business. Granted this was only his third night in the neighbourhood, maybe he would get used to it now that he had committed to living here long term.1 

Speaking of strange things, some were definitely stranger than others. For example, the warm body next to him belonged to Havelock Vetinari, Patrician. He was sleeping with his back to Vimes, trusting, at ease, and it still amazed Sam that he couldn’t think of anywhere he’d rather be than in this man’s bed. He scooted closer and nuzzled Havelock’s neck. 

There was a sigh, a slight shift. Someone whispered something in the dark followed by a throaty chuckle. They moved together unhurriedly. Sam started to kiss his way down Havelock’s back, pushing the covers away as he went. The warmth of the blanket cocoon evaporated, goosebumps spread across his body but he ignored it. A different kind of heat quickly took over. 

Fully awake now, Vetinari rolled onto his back, his fingers sliding into Sam’s hair. Vimes’ lips skimmed along the happy trail, brushing his cheek against the soft skin of Havelock’s hard cock before he sucked it into his mouth. 

He wasn’t sure what turned him on more, the fact that he could do this now or the noises coming out of Vetinari’s mouth. It was such a bloody rush. One of Sam’s hands snaked down to his own dick, giving it a squeeze. His groan rippled along the hot flesh filling his mouth. Vetinari arched off the bed, making Sam choke on cock. 

“I’m close,” Havelock panted, pulling Sam’s hair, forcing him to let go and shift upward. Vimes hovered above Vetinari, giving him space to reach down and encircle them both in his long fingers. There was no art or playfulness, they were already too far gone for games. Sam’s hips seemed to have a mind of their own as they thrust into the tight grip, sliding against Havelock’s cock.

He leaned down for a kiss when his orgasm slammed through him. Sam groaned into Havelock’s mouth who followed close behind, hot cum splashing against their already slick skin. 

Sam’s arms gave in and he rolled to the side, breathing heavily. Next to him Vetinari turned his head toward him and smiled. 

The world felt floaty and happy and it was still hours before they would have to leave this house, this sanctuary, and face reality again. A part of Vimes was itching to get back to work but another dreaded to find out how Ankh-Morpork would react to the news. He didn’t regret his decision, that much was certain, but that didn’t mean he was looking forward to the inevitable knock-on effects this would have. He wasn’t naive, there would be trouble. 

“I can practically here you thinking,” Havelock stated calmly. 

Sam sighed and got out of bed. “Be right back,” he announced and disappeared into the bathroom across the hall to fetch a damp cloth to clean them up. 

“Thank you.” Vetinari almost purred when Sam swiped the warm towel over his skin. 

“My pleasure.” Vimes dropped the still damp cloth on the floor.

Vetinari cleared his throat and raised an eyebrow.

Sam rolled his eyes although Havelock couldn’t see it and said, “I’ll clean it up later. Move over.” 

Vetinari shook his head and made room. They burrowed back under the covers, facing each other. 

“The things I let you get away with.”

Sam chuckled, “I noticed.”

“I hope you’re not under the delusion this will extend to our professional relationship.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sir.” Sam replied and kissed him, knowing full well that Vetinari had always been exceedingly permissive when it came to Vimes’ idiosyncratic approach to solving crime, often acting against his direct orders. 

In fact, as long as there was no actual harm done, Vetinari was incredibly lenient in all aspects of his life. Sam had not really appreciated this before but Havelock tended to let everyone have their way until it ran against what he thought was the greater good aka the future of Ankh-Morpork, probably making Vetinari the most accommodating tyrant in history.

“You really don’t want to rule anything, do you? I mean not for the lording-it-over-people sake?” asked Sam, watching Havelock smirk in the dark. 

“If I did, I would be out of a job before sunrise. You of all people should know Ankh-Morpork doesn’t fare well under despotism.” 

The image of Old Stoneface lopping the King’s head off surfaced in front of Sam’s inner eye. “Not for any length of time, no. Ha! And you call me zen, _tyrant_ of Ankh and Morpork, Lord Havelock Vetinari, sir.” 

“Are you implying we’re similar?” 

The question gave Sam pause. “Am I?” 

“I suppose you’re not wrong,” Havelock replied, answering his own question. “We’re both something we’re very much trying not to be while at the same time having to act as though we are.” 

Sam shrugged, “You may have turned me into a nob and a politician but that doesn’t mean I have to behave like them. I keep the peace, always have, always will, and that’s it.”

“Yes, by causing a stir, upsetting pretty much everyone who is anyone in the city and sometimes elsewhere.”

“You have people killed and resurrected whenever it suits you.”

Vetinari sighed. “When it suits _the city_. This may surprise you but I take no pleasure in killing.”

“Yes, that does surprise me,” Sam growled who hated any reminder that Havelock had trained at the Assassins’ Guild. 

“Does it really?” 

Vimes paused and thought for a moment. “No,” he admitted, “you have never given me the impression of actually enjoying anything other than manipulating people.”

“Truly? Nothing at all?”

Sam hesitated. “Well…maybe one or two other things,” he grinned and leaned in for a kiss.

“What do you expect will happen today?” Sam asked after a while. He had no doubt that rumours about them were already circulating the city. 

“Not much, although I suspect I shall be getting a visit from Mr Slant, asking me to sign a demand by the Guilds leaders that should there ever be any charges brought against you, I will have to recuse myself from the case and vice versa. Oh, and the Times will pay me a visit. You, too, of course. They will say something about giving us the opportunity to tell our side of the story in the hopes of getting exclusive interviews. I think we should comply. It is as much for our benefit as it is for theirs.” 

“I don’t like either of these options,” Sam grumbled. “Bloody free press. And how am I to protect you if I can’t investigate when you’re involved?” 

“Weakening our power to protect each other from their scheming is what they’ve been waiting for.”

Sam propped himself up on his elbow, “And this doesn’t worry you?”

Havelock stifled a yawn behind the back of his hand and rolled over, staring at the ceiling.

“They’ll be too busy trying to figure out what, if any, benefit they can wrangle out of this paradigm shift which will inevitably lead to them fighting amongst each other. And if all else fails, I _am_ a tyrant, Sam.” 

“Yes, but only for a given amount of tyranny.”

Vetinari chuckled. “True. But what being a tyrant in this city really means is having access to extensive resources. We can sign the piece of paper, it won’t change anything other than make us look good.”

“I don’t know, you look pretty good as it is,” Sam said and enjoyed the resulting smirk on Havelock’s face. Vain bastard. 

“I’m very pleased to see you can actually be charming. Please do try and use it during your next diplomatic encounter, it will confuse everybody.” 

Sam scoffed, “If I did that they’d blame your influence and I’d lose what little ground I have. I have a reputation to uphold.”

Vetinari’s hand snaked around Sam’s back and pulled him over for a kiss. “Please don’t ever change,” he whispered against Vimes’ lips. 

*~*

There was a tall woman - probably taller than Vimes - doing the dishes with her back to them as they came downstairs. Her hair was short, curly and iron grey. She wore a white apron tied with a neat bow behind her back over sensible clothing. Unusual for a woman her age - Vimes guessed she was about twenty years his senior - she wore trousers and, less unusual, comfortable shoes. 

“Sam, may I introduce Modesty Gellafate? She’s our housekeeper.” 

“Pleased to meet you, Ms Gellafate,” Sam greeted.

“It’s Maud,” said the woman. Vimes noticed the lack of “sir” only because he was used to staff adding it every time, even if he considered said staff as almost friends. Apparently, Maud didn’t care for etiquette either. A good start. 

She put the last plate on a rack before drying her hands on a towel. Only then did she turn around and Sam’s inner watchman perked up. Everything about her slow, deliberate movements screamed capable, dangerous, _assassin_. Damn, and he had just started to like her. 

“Maud?” he enquired. He could feel his face taking on the wooden expression he usually reserved for work. 

Eyes so deep brown they looked black gave him a long, calculating look before she nodded and checked on something baking in the oven. “Almost done.”

“Maud, it is.” Sam said, watching her hands, calloused, strong, used to handling weapons. And if the muscles shifting under the fabric of her black sleeves were any indication, using them often and with great skill.

“Why don’t you boys stop wasting space in my kitchen and sit down? Breakfast will be ready in a minute.” She dismissed them and turned toward the stove. 

 _Boys!_ Sam glanced at Havelock who had already turned and gone into the dining room. They sat down at the table. 

“So, you’ve an assassin as a housekeeper?” Sam enquired.

Vetinari unfolded his napkin and put it in his lap. “No. _We_ have a spy as a housekeeper.” 

“A spy? Spy for whom?” 

Havelock smacked his lips, “Let’s see. Maud used to work for the Baron of Genua. And then came into my family’s service and moved here with my aunt when she started to look after me. After Winder’s assassination, she worked abroad in Klatsch and Howondaland for, oh, twenty years or so before she resumed her service for my aunt in Pseudopolis.”

Sam let all of that sink in. “But how come she is now your housekeeper?”

“ _Our_ housekeeper,” Havelock corrected, giving Sam a look that made his stomach flip. Damn, Vimes wasn’t sure how much of this he could take. It made his skin tingle in weird ways and he had to get to work today. They were running late as it was. Also, something about having another person in the house made him ridiculously conscious of what said person might hear or worse, see. 

A plate appeared in front of Sam who had to use every ounce of willpower not to jump out of his skin. _Where had she come from?_

“You two are nauseating. I’m glad I’m only here from six to two every day. And to answer your question, young man-“ 

 _Young man?_ Sam gaped at her.

“-because Madam thought it would be a nice retirement job for me.” Maud put another plate in front of Havelock.

“Cooking, cleaning and doing laundry? I find that- you’re keeping an eye on him for her.” 

“You said he was smart,” Maud cackled and prodded Havelock’s shoulder before she returned to the kitchen. 

Sam stared. “Did she just _nudge_ you?”

Vetinari nodded. “She has known me since I was six. I sometimes think she barely acknowledges that I have grown into a teenager at some point, let alone an adult.”

“And you let her just- I mean-“ Sam’s egalitarian heart was fighting his common sense. Half of him was rejoicing while the other half was bewildered that anyone could get away with treating the Patrician with such a degree of familiarity - except for himself, of course, but that was different. 

“Maud is efficient and a great cook. She isn’t just a spy. She is an _old_ spy-“

“ _Tais-toi!_ Who are you calling old?” shouted their housekeeper from the kitchen.

Havelock took a deep breath and briefly closed his eyes before he continued, “As I was saying, she is an-“

“I get it,” Sam waved a hand at him. “You’re saying if anything gets past her, it deserves a shot at killing us.” 

“Quite so.”

“I like him!” Maud shouted. Sam blushed and hastily shovelled egg into his mouth, pointedly not looking at Havelock who he knew was smiling at him. 

 _“Good grief, we are nauseating,”_ Sam thought and refrained from smirking by stuffing his face with more food which was indeed delicious. 

*~*

The familiar smell of armour polish, sweat and coffee greeted him like an old friend when he walked through the front doors of the Watch headquarters at Pseudopolis Yard just after 8am. All eyes turned on the Commander and a silence so thick you could cut it settled over the room. 

“Good morning,” Vimes said a little too cheerful. The room seemed to collectively hold its breath. Copies of the _Times_ lay on every table with watchmen clustered around them. 

“I’ll be-“ 

Angua’s coffee mug smashed on the floor, briefly drawing the room’s attention. She muttered something about butter fingers and started to tidy up the shards.

 _“Ah, werewolf sense of smell,”_ thought Sam. _“Oh well, they’ll all know soon enough.”_

“-in my office,” he finished out loud and walked up the stairs. As soon as he had closed his door, the noise exploded. 

After five minutes there was a knock. “Come in, Captain,” called Vimes. Only Carrot knocked with this kind of keen efficiency. 

The tallest dwarf on the Disc entered and saluted. “Good morning, sir.” 

“Morning, did I miss anything?”

“No, sir. Been really quiet. It’s all in my report, right there.” Carrot pointed to the piece of paper on top of the other papers. Granted their were less now since A.E. Pessimal had joined the ranks but there were still enough memos to make Vimes’ eyes water. 

Sam made a show of reading Carrot’s report while the captain shifted from foot to foot. “I see we finally got on top of that inconvenient apparition on Easy Street nonsense.” 

“Yes, sir. Turned out it wasn’t a bogey man after all. Just a neighbour with a grudge.” 

“Every time,” Vimes sighed. Neighbourly disputes were in the top five of reasons why the Watch was called to keep the peace in this town. “Anything else?”

“Uhm-“

Sam took a leaf out of Havelock’s book, leaned back and quietly stared at his captain. The colour of Carrot’s face matched his hair by now. A minute passed in awkward silence before all the words came out in a rush.

“Well, Mister Vimes. I- that is all of us here were very sorry to hear about your separation. It must be very difficult. I’m sure his lordship would understand if you wanted to take a bit more time off to sort things out. As you can see, it’s dead quiet at the moment and I’m happy to keep an eye on things.”

 _“Yes, his lordship would be positively delighted if I took time off and stayed at home,”_ thought Sam, who could just see how that would end. However, there was only so much hanky-panky a man his age could handle. Damn, he was sore as it was. 

“Thank you, Captain, but I’ll stick with work for now. Besides there is nothing left to sort. Lady Sybil and I have already signed all the papers.”

Carrot’s face fell. “Ah, I see.”

“You seem disappointed.” 

“No, no. It’s just that, well, I had sort of hoped you’d be able to, you know, work things out if you’d only enough time. I’m sorry, I know that’s none of my business. I’ll get back to it, sir.” 

For a moment, Vimes debated whether he should fill Carrot in on all the details but something told him the man wasn’t prepared to hear the truth quite yet. However, he didn’t want to lie to his best man either. 

“Carrot, I appreciate your concern but there’s more to this whole story than meets the eye. Rest assured for now that Lady Sybil and I parted amicably. It was the best solution for all concerned.” 

The young man’s honest face rested on Vimes for a few moments. People always pointed out how simple Carrot seemed, and he was, he really was. However, what many failed to realise was that simple didn’t mean stupid. 

“Mister Vimes, I feel I should tell you that there are rumours going around.”

Sam sighed, “I’m sure there are.” 

Carrot nervously licked his lips. “It’s just some of them are quite-“

“Sordid?”

There was another knock. “Come in,” called Vimes. Sergeant Angua entered and closed the door behind her. 

“I was just telling the Commander-“ Carrot began but Angua interjected.

“Yes, I know.” 

 _“Werewolf hearing,”_ thought Vimes. Out loud he asked, “Sergeant, I assume you’re also here to weigh in on my private life?” He hadn’t meant for it to come out so defensive. Ah well, too late now. 

If she had taken offence, she didn’t show it. Instead she said, “In a manner of speaking, yes. I’m here to say that I understand and you have my full support, sir.” 

Vimes blinked. Of all the things he had expected to come flying his way today, this hadn’t even been on the list. However, it dawned on him if anyone understood what it was like to have a part of yourself you’ve kept and sometimes still had to keep hidden, it would be a werewolf who had chosen to live among ordinary and often small-minded people.

Carrot looked from Angua to his boss and back. “I think I’m missing part of the conversation.” 

Angua kept her eyes on Vimes when she said, “There’s going to be a lot of talk. Some of the lads won’t like it.”

The commander nodded. “Yes, I was expecting as much. The way I see it, the best thing I can do is carry on and do my job. I’m here to keep the peace and that’s what I’ll do.”

“Ah, so it’s true,” Carrot suddenly said - simple, not stupid. Angua and Sam stared at him as if they’d forgotten he had even been in the room. The captain looked thoughtful for a moment and then he said, “If you’ll excuse me, I have to think about this for a bit.” When Angua tried to speak, he held up his hand and quietly left the room.

“I’ll talk to him,” Angua said, still staring at the closed door. “Being in a relationship with another man is not something he’s had to think about up until now. You’ll remember how he first kicked up a fuss when Cheery came out as female. He’ll come around, you’ll see, sir.” 

Vimes nodded, “Thank you, I appreciate your support. I mean it.”

She frowned at him. “It’s _just_ Vetinari, though, right?”

“What? Yes, of course, why- what kind of rumours are going around out there? No, I don’t want to know. For the record, it’s just him. It has always been just him. It’s a very recent development and nothing serious happened between us until I had had a conversation with Sybil about it. We are living together in Small Gods. End of story.” Sam knew his ears were burning but there was no way around it. He knew his private life would be a favourite gossip topic for some time to come. The least he could do is make sure some of the rumours were rooted in facts. 

Angua smiled. “That’s what I thought.”

“Glad to hear it, Sergeant.”

She walked to the door. “Permission to set the record straight with the others?” 

“Was that a pun?”

“Not intentionally.”

“Do it, but only on a need to know when asked basis. No need to make a big deal about this.”

Angua wrinkled her nose. “No offence, sir, but it kind of is a big deal already.”

Vimes grumbled under his breath when Cheery knocked on the door. 

“Yes?” Sam called. 

“Sorry, sir, but Sacharissa Cripslock would like a word,” Cheery announced, glancing at Angua. There was a brief non-verbal exchange that went along the lines of, _“Well?”_ and, _“Tell you later”_. Vimes rolled his eyes.

“Whatever happened to respect for privacy?” he wondered out loud when the reporter pushed past Cheery into the room with a big smile. 

“Sir?” 

“It’s fine, Littlebottom.” He nodded at Angua and the two watchmen headed back downstairs, leaving him alone with the nosiest person in Ankh-Morpork.

*~*

 _“Damn, I owe Havelock a dollar,”_ thought Vimes. They’d bet on their way in the coach which reporter would show up on whose doorstep. 

“Are you here to report a crime, Ms Cripslock?” 

She beamed at him. “On the contrary, I’m here to prevent one. Slander and libel may not be actionable by themselves but they often lead to unpleasantness that breaks the peace. Wouldn’t you agree, Commander?” 

“Are you saying if I don’t give you what you want you will make up your own truth? Isn’t that rather unethical?” 

Sacharissa’s hand flew to her heart. “I’m shocked you’d even suggest such a thing. I’m here to give you the chance to tell your side of the story before all those nasty rumours blow what should be a private matter out of proportion.” 

“Of course,” Vimes smiled with his teeth alone, “how silly of me. What with the _Times_ being known for their altruistic motivation. Do take a seat.” 

Ignoring his jibe, the reporter sat down and whipped out her notebook in one fluent motion. 

“You can ask me three questions, Ms Cripslock,” he offered.  

“And you’ll answer them truthfully?”

“Naturally, provided in doing so I’m not breaking the law. That was the first question, by the way.” 

“Commander!” She feigned outrage rather well. 

“Oh, go on, then. Three questions.” Out of the corner of his eye Sam noticed the floorboards close to the door shift in a familiar pattern. 

Oblivious to this detail, Sacharissa cleared her throat. “What are the terms of your divorce?” 

“We share custody and I get to see my son every weekend. Young Sam will inherit the estate and titles. Lady Sybil will remain Duchess of Ankh for life.” If she had hoped for a different answer, she would have to learn to live with disappointment. 

“Is it true you left your wife for another man?” 

 _“Ah, and there it is,”_ Sam thought. “Yes,” he admitted. 

She didn’t miss a beat before she fired her last question. “Is it true that man is the Patrician, Havelock Vetinari?”

“Yes.” 

“BLOODY HELL!” That was Sergeant Colon who had been listening at the door. 

“Come in, Fred!” 

“I believe we’re done here,” Sam nodded at Sacharissa who had gotten up but was taking her sweet time putting her notebook away.

Fred slammed his badge on the desk. “That’s just so I can talk to you from man to man. I’ll take it back. I’m too close to retirement to gamble my pension. But, Sam, have you lost your mind?”

Vimes scratched his chin. “Possibly, Fred. Goodbye, Ms Cripslock, I trust the _Times_ is not going to quote me out of context!” 

“You have my word, Commander.” She beamed at him and closed the door as she left.

Colon was so red in the face, Sam feared he might have a heart attack. “Sit down, you look like you’re going to die on me.” 

The chair the reporter had just vacated creaked ominously under the sergeant’s weight. 

“Sam, I know men sometimes get funny ideas when they get to a certain age - I’ve been there.” Vimes gave Colon a look. 

“No, not like that! I went and bought fancy clothes I couldn’t afford and hung around, you know, the places where ladies half my age gather.” 

“The market?”

“No, the temples, Sam! Praying for husbands, or more a miracle in some cases. Always eager to chat and grateful when you help them pick up something they have dropped, which, mind you, happens a lot. But that’s not the bloody point! It’s not about me,” Fred snapped, resurfacing out of the rosy cloud of recollection and diving into the red mist of misplaced concern. He glared at Sam. “This is about you and what you’ve done to your fine lady for a …for a…and with _him_ of all people.”

Vimes still tried to mentally insert the man in front of him into the Ankh-Morpork dating scene. It didn’t work. Fred Colon, gigolo. No.

“Sam-“

Vimes shook his head. “Save it, Fred.” There was no other way. He had to say it. For the second time ever. “I love him. That’s the truth.” He thought he heard a tiny shriek from outside the office door followed by the clicking of fashionable boots scurrying off in a hurry. 

 _“That will make for an interesting headline,”_ thought Vimes. And stopped. He scratched his chin. Fred was saying something but Sam was too busy trying to figure out whether Havelock was actually aware of his feelings. It wasn’t as if they had said anything, not in so many words. It had just sort of been implied. After all, they were both more show than tell kind of people. Actions speak louder etcetera etcetera.

“Damn! Ah well, if he doesn’t know it yet, he’ll find out first thing tomorrow.”

“What?” 

“What? Oh, nothing, Fred.”

“Love, you say,” the sergeant wiped his forehead with a hanky. “Well, I dunno about that, Sam. But I can’t argue with it either.”

Vimes let out a brief chuckle. Sybil had said the same thing but he didn’t want to mention it because Fred had just sort of latched on to the idea that Sam was in a loving relationship with another man and you had to keep Fred’s mind on track if you ever wanted to get anywhere.

“But, I mean, who is the-“

“Stop right there, Fred.”

“I was only going to ask who-“

“No. You’re thinking about it in terms of husband and wife and that’s not how this works. Please stop, and if you can, accept that I love him. End of story.” Damn, he had said it again. 

Colon got out of his chair and picked up his badge. He sighed and gave Vimes a long look. “I’ve known you for a long time, Sam. I just hope you’re happy, that’s all.”

Sam felt oddly touched. “Thank you, Fred. I appreciate that.” He cleared his throat. “Now, I’m sure someone’s committing a crime out there, why don’t you go see what we can do about it.”

Colon saluted, “Right you are, Mister Vimes.”

After he had gone, Sam leaned back in his chair and sighed. This was going to be a damn long day and it wasn’t even 9am yet. He wondered whether Havelock’s day was going any better.

TBC


	2. Havelock's Monday

The Patrician was having an excellent morning. 

He and Vimes had taken the carriage to the palace, a thoroughly amusing experience. Sam had initially protested, but because they were late had - _yes_ \- acquiesced. 

“Don’t think this is going to be a thing from now on,” growled Vimes as he jumped out as soon as they had arrived at the palace gates. 

“Of course not, commander. I shall see you at 11.” 

Sam grunted and - as the guard later informed him - marched off toward the Brass Bridge without a backward glance, just as Havelock pointedly refrained from watching him leave. 

“Good morning, your lordship,” Drumknott greeted when he stepped into the Oblong Office at 7:50am. 

“Good morning, Drumknott. I shall expect Mr de Worde and, of course, Mr Slant to pay me a visit at around, oh, 10:50. Neither man will want to appear too obvious. Have them wait together until 11:04.”

“Of course, sir. Anything else?” 

The Patrician tilted his head and narrowed his eyes before he answered. “Bar any unforeseen emergencies, Commander Vimes will arrive at about 10:30, please make sure he is shown in via Harmoni’s Harp **[1]**.” 

Drumknott frowned and asked, “The back door?” Before he remembered himself and added, “As you wish, my lord.” 

“Capital. Make sure you intercept him personally. If, or shall I say when, he asks why, tell him…Yes, tell him he owes me a dollar. He’ll understand. Bring him here directly.” 

Drumknott inclined his head and watched as Havelock glanced at the office copy of the _Times_. 

“How was the crossword puzzle this morning, sir?” Drumknott asked as subtle as a sock full of bricks to the forehead. 

Vetinari flashed him a quick smile before he leafed through the pages until he arrived at the riddles section. He picked up a pen. 

“Come now, Drumknott. Recent developments in my private life notwithstanding, why would I ever deprive us of _this_?” He pointed at the crossword. “Are you ready?” 

Given the secretary’s reserved nature, the slight curving of the corners of Drumknott’s mouth was the equivalent of a full blown grin so bright it would have eclipsed the sun. He took out his pocket watch.

”Ready, sir!”

*~*

As expected Sam arrived at the palace at 10:34 and was ushered into the Oblong Office at 10:42 via the secret door. 

“What’s all this about, your lordship?” Vimes asked.

Feigning surprise, Vetinari said, “You’re early, commander.” 

Sam gave him a look. “Yes, so unexpected. Clearly.” He flipped an old-fashioned dollar coin onto the desk. 

Havelock flashed him a quick smile before he leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “How was your interview with Ms Cripslock?” 

“Short. Just the way I like it. De Worde’s waiting out there?” 

“I believe he’s arriving right now, as is Mr Slant. Have you ever thought about us having sex in here?”

Vimes’ mouth dropped open. Vetinari could see the blush rising from his neck up and reaching the root of his scalp when he lied, “Of course not.” 

Havelock refrained from smirking and just kept staring at him. 

“But I do now!” Sam barked. “Thanks to you I will probably never be able to walk in here and not think about it.” 

 “Excellent. I need to borrow your helmet.”

*~*

When William de Worde, chief editor of the _Times_ , and Mr Slant, head of the Guild of Lawyers, entered the office, they found the Patrician sitting behind his desk, reading a report. He glanced up and indicated two chairs. They sat. 

“I hope you don’t mind sharing your appointment since I believe you’re both here concerning the same…issue.” 

The reporter and the lawyer exchanged a look and nodded. When Slant opened his mouth, a fly escaped, which everyone else in the room pretended not to notice. 

“Your lordship, I’ve been approached by the leaders of the main Guilds to clarify a rumour concerning yourself and-,” the zombie’s eyeballs swivelled toward the watchman helmet, sitting innocently at the corner of the desk. “And his Grace, the Duke of Ankh, Commander Sir Samuel Vimes.” 

“Oh…uhm, I figured as much,” Havelock replied, gripping the piece of paper he was still holding a little too hard. 

De Worde and Slant frowned. 

“Your lordship, I have a suggestion, if I may?” said the reporter.  

“Go ahead.” 

“Why don’t I ask you a few questions to give you a chance to tell your side of the story to the public which will hopefully also answer any questions Mr Slant here has. Would that work for all concerned?”

The lawyer agreed with a nod. They looked at Vetinari who stared back at them, nostrils flaring. He had now interlinked his fingers in front of his mouth and was holding them so tightly his knuckles shone white. 

“Sir?”

“Or course.”

De Worde cleared his throat and pulled out his notepad and pen. 

“It has been confirmed and indeed been made public through the _Times_ this morning that the Duke and Duchess of Ankh have separated. Given the Duke’s role as Commander of the City Watch, are you concerned this will impact on the safeguarding of the city?”

“No.” 

Silence settled over the room except for the sound of breathing by the two living individuals, one significantly heavier than the other. 

“Uhm, could you elaborate, sir?” 

Vetinari took a deep breath before the words came out in a rush, “No reports of any disruptions and or civil unrest have reached my ears since the news broke, and believe me, they would have had their been any. Hence, no.” 

“I see. Has the commander requested any special leave?” 

The Patrician seemed to stare into De Worde’s direction but apparently without actually looking at him.

“Sir?”

“No,” came another terse reply. 

“Could you-“ 

Mr Slant coughed, dislodging another bug. “I’m sorry, but could we get to the point?”

“Aren’t you being paid by the hour?” Vetinari’s sneer was cut short by a tiny gasp. 

Slant didn’t even twitch. “Still, there is such a thing as a waste of time.” His undead eyes shifted to the reporter.

De Worde sighed. “Persistent rumours backed by credible sources say you are the reason for the separation. Can you confirm?”

Vetinari seemed to ponder this by staring at the ceiling, biting his lower lip before he replied. “The commander has a mind of his own, and a mouth-,“ a lightning fast smile crossed his face, “-you’ll have to ask him.”

Slant and De Worde looked at the helmet again. Both started to squirm in their seats. 

“Pardon me, but isn’t he usually here at this time?” The lawyer enquired, still staring. 

Vetinari nodded. 

“But not now?” 

“Do you…see him anywhere?” 

De Worde visibly swallowed, his eyes darting from the helmet to Vetinari to the helmet and finally settled on the desk. A bead of sweat ran into his brow. He wiped it off with the back of his hand. The reporter coughed and forced himself to look at Vetinari again. 

“Your lordship, do you and the commander have an _understanding_?” 

“No.”

“Objection,” Slant said automatically before he corrected himself. “I meant to say, I beg to differ. You’ve been seen together entering a house in Small Gods two days ago and not left it until this morning. This might be circumstantial, but given the eye-witness account and-,” he coughed again, “ - _other_ evidence-,“ a strangled sound escaped De Worde’s throat but Slant carried on, “-I dare say you are not telling us the truth. My clients have a legitimate concern regarding the just government of this city. I therefore urge you to reconsider your response.”

Vetinari smacked his lips and splayed his hands on the desk. His cheeks looked slightly flushed, but they were still pale compared to the crimson hue on De Worde’s face. 

“You’re exceedingly well informed. However, I was, in fact, telling the truth. Commander Vimes and I do not have an understanding, Mr Slant. The term implies a casual arrangement and there is nothing casual between him and me. We are - and you may quote me Mr de Worde - in a committed, exclusive relationship. The house you mentioned is our home.”

De Worde’s mouth dropped open while his hand scribbled furiously. “Follow up, how long have you two been involved?” 

“Since- oh, what would you say, commander?”

“Saturday evening.”

De Worde and Slant yelped when Sam suddenly appeared behind their chairs. They looked frantically between the commander and the desk before they both scowled at Vetinari who merely raised his eyebrows at them. 

“Where the hell did you come from?” growled the zombie. 

“If you must know, _sir_ , I was having a quiet word with Drumknott,” he indicated the door to the secretary’s office. “I came back to pick up my helmet. How is the leg, your lordship?”

“Oh, still aching. It always does when the weather changes. Thank you for asking.”

“Your-,“ Slant glared at Vetinari before he pulled a piece of paper out of his satchel. 

“This is a letter, drafted by the leaders of the main Guilds. They would like you both to sign it to guarantee we won’t see a throwback to the times when nepotism was the norm which had a seriously detrimental effect on the city.” The lawyer handed the letter to the Patrician. He read it. 

“Throwback to the times and so on. Yes, indeed. I quite agree. Don’t you agree, commander? Where is my pen?” 

“Indeed, sir.” Vimes replied dutifully, hands behind his back. 

De Worde was looking at Vimes who stared straight ahead with an expression so wooden, one could have made a wardrobe out of it. “Commander, may I ask-?”

“Your wife got there first,” Sam interjected. 

“I know, we spoke.” 

This made Vimes turn his head, although his expression did not change. “Then, there is nothing left to say.” 

“She asked me to extend her apologies, should I happen to run into you. She couldn’t help but overhear parts of another conversation you had when she was leaving.”

“Uh-hn. Yes, I’m sure she quite accidentally lingered in front of my closed door.” 

“For the record, did you mean it?” De Worde asked undeterred while shifting his gaze to the Patrician. 

When Havelock handed the signed letter back to the lawyer with a, “Here you go,” he heard Sam quietly say, “Yes,” and wondered what that had been about. 

“Your grace,” Slant said. Sam stepped forward, took the pen and signed next to Havelock’s name before he stepped back and resumed his official standing-to-attention position. 

“Gentlemen, I believe we are done here. Please, don’t let me detain you. I’m sure you have elsewhere to be,” Vetinari said. “Not you, commander. We have unfinished business.”

“I won’t forget this,” the lawyer hissed as he made to leave.

“I’m counting on it,” smirked the Patrician. 

“Thank you for your time, sir, commander,” De Worde bowed and hurried out of the room, closing the door behind him. 

When they were alone, Vimes sighed, “And? Was it everything you’d hoped for, your lordship?” 

“Yes. Thank you for indulging me.” Vetinari smiled one of his rare, genuine smiles. It got him one in return which made it all the more worth while. Sam sauntered around the desk.

“If you were thinking of branching out, I think you have a real talent for the stage.” 

“Commander, the whole world is a stage and we are merely actors, trying to remember our lines.”

“Yeah well, today’s audience didn’t seem to be particularly amused.” 

“Oh, De Worde will find it funny, eventually. However, they will both never be able to not think of this when they’re in this room, keeping them just a tiny bit, shall we say, off balance.”

Sam nodded and leaned into Havelock’s personal space. “Uh-hn. You’re an awful, devious, evil man.” He kissed him. 

“What happened to not in the office? I distinctly remember us discussing this at great length on the way here?” Havelock asked against Sam’s lips before he closed the gap between them again. 

A knock on the door made them both sigh in frustration before they pulled apart. Sam turned his back and surreptitiously adjusted himself. 

“Come in,” Vetinari called, slightly distracted by the view of Sam’s backside. 

“I beg your pardon, sir, but your 11:30 is waiting.” 

“I should get back to it too. Nothing out of the ordinary to report, sir,” Vimes saluted. 

“Then, don’t let me detain you, commander.” 

“See you at home?” 

“Of course,” Havelock smiled. 

*~*

Around 4pm the door to the Oblong Offices opened and admitted the chairman of the Royal Bank who, in the absence of a longer tail, wagged his whole body when he spotted the Patrician behind his desk. Smiling, Vetinari bent down and patted the excited dog before turning his attention to his other visitor who had slunk into the room after Mr Fusspot. 

“Mr Lipwig, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” 

“You asked me to return the chairman at,” Moist pulled out his pocket watch, “five minutes ago, your lordship.”

“I did? Hm. It must have slipped my mind,” Vetinari replied, apparently unconcerned. 

Moist frowned but quickly morphed his face back into the smile that had become his hallmark. “Anyway, is there anything else I can do for you?” 

Vetinari looked back at the small dog who panted at him, pink tongue hanging out of his mouth. 

“Actually, there is,” he said and shook his head if only on the inside. _‘Oh dear, Mr Lipwig, you still have a long way to go. Exasperation is looking at me out of every nostril.’_

“At your service,” Moist replied dutifully, smile still in place, but it was pulling away form his face.

“I want you to take long term custody of the chairman since he was bequeathed to you in the first place. I think it’s only fit for you to make sure no harm comes to him from now on.”

Lipwig narrowed his eyes and smirked, “This doesn’t by any chance have anything to you with your new…err…living arrangements?”

“I’m sorry?” 

“Well, a little bird told me-“ he saw the look on the Patrician’s face and snapped his mouth shut before he opened it again to continue in the tone of people who realised they had not so much stepped but jumped into the proverbial smelly brown stuff. “Never mind, sir, none of my business. Adora Belle won’t be happy but-“

“Ah, yes. Speaking of your dear wife, I hear congratulations are in order.” 

“Oh, that’s kind of you to say.” Moist smiled. 

“Why, of course. The birth of your first child is always a landmark event in any man’s life, or so I’ve been told.”

Moist blinked. 

“And you get two at the price of one, what a bargain.” 

Moist blinked again.

Vetinari’s eyebrows rose when Moist continued to stare at him, smile frozen in place and only the occasional blinking suggested he remained yet among the living. 

“Mr Lipwig?”

“Hnnngggg…”

“Oh dear.” Havelock got out of his chair, Mr Fusspot bouncing around him as he stepped toward Moist. He gripped the man’s shoulders and gently shook him. “Mr Lipwig?” 

Like a zombie, Moist slowly swivelled his head left and right, still smiling before his eyes rolled into the back of his head. He would have fallen backward had Vetinari not gotten hold of him and helped ease him into one of the chairs in front of his desk. 

Mr Fusspot seized the moment to jump onto Moist’s lap and lick his chin until the reformed con-man opened his eyes again. 

“Wha-?”

“Here,” Vetinari pressed a glass of water into his unresting hand. He looked at it and then up at the Patrician. 

“I’m afraid I need something stronger.”

“Of course. Brandy?” 

“Oh gods, please.” 

Vetinari fixed the drink and then leaned against his desk, hands clasped together in front of his mouth. 

“Mr Lipwig, I owe you an apology. I was not aware you had not been told.”

Moist drained the crystal tumbler in one gulp and coughed. He wiped his chin before Mr Fusspot could lick it again and stared up at the Patrician. 

“I thought you meant her election to the board,” he whined.

“I’m so sorry,” Havelock repeated. 

“How do you even know? No don’t answer that.” He held up his hand. “I mean…two… _twins_?”

“Apparently so,” Vetinari confirmed. 

“I…why didn’t she tell _me_?” 

“Maybe she wanted it to be a surprise?” 

Lipwig cocked his head. “Come to think of it, she wanted us to have dinner tonight without interruptions. Hence this,” he briefly picked up the dog as exhibit A, “would be rather inconvenient because I don’t know whether you’ve noticed but he’s rather demanding.” 

“I can take him for another night, it’s no problem.” 

“The commander won’t mind?” 

“Probably,” Havelock shrugged. 

“Ah-HA! So it is true.” Moist pointed a finger at Vetinari. 

The Patrician straightened up and raised an eyebrow, a small smile playing around the corner’s of his mouth. “Oh, very clever, Mr Lipwig. Did you put on this little show just to get confirmation?” 

“No, I had no idea about the baby - _babies_! Twins, oh gods. You thoroughly spoiled it. But I had to cut my losses, eh? Cheers.” He raised the empty glass.

Vetinari felt a strange warmth spreading through him. _‘You were handed a defeat, of sorts, and turned it into a victory. Well done.’_

Out loud he said, “Dare I ask what exactly is it you think I just confirmed?”

“Well,” Moist crossed his ankles and hunched his shoulders, “word is you and the commander are fu…hahaha…having an understanding and that’s why he left the duchess. May I?” He indicated the liquor cabinet.

“Help yourself.” He watched Moist get a refill but declined when he was offered a drink as well. 

“So, is it true?” Moist asked. 

“You’ll have to wait for the next copy of the _Times_ like everyone else.” 

Moist spluttered. “The _Times_? You gave an interview about your se…pppp…private life?” 

Vetinari nodded. “It was a mutual beneficial arrangement. As you just demonstrated, there are enough rumours circulating. A little honesty goes a long way sometimes, wouldn’t you agree, Mr Spangler?” 

“Funny,” Moist deadpanned. “Well, I should go. I have to practice acting surprised when my wife tells me the good news. I wish you all the best. It couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy.”

“Why, thank you,” Vetinari replied, ignoring the sarcasm. 

“I was referring to the commander.” 

Havelock didn’t miss a beat, “Then, I shall pass it on. And now, off you go.” 

The postmaster general and acting chairman of the Royal Bank and Mint together with the former con-man Albert Spangler and father-to-be Moist von Lipwig made to leave. Vetinari already sat back behind his desks, seemingly engrossed in reports.

“Right, right. Good day, sir.” 

Moist’s hand was already on the door handle when the Patrician called, “Mr Lipwig?” He turned around.

“Congratulations.” 

Moist hesitated for a minute before his grin almost split his face in two, “Thank you, sir. You know I’ll make a mess of it.” 

Havelock smiled. “It takes a village and so on. You’re not alone in this, and you’ll be just fine.” 

For a second, Moist’s chin sagged, his gaze turning to the tip of his shoes. When he looked up again, he genuinely surprised Havelock. 

“I guess we both aren’t any more. Strange feeling.” 

Now it was Vetinari’s turn to feel flustered, although only Sam would probably be able to tell. 

“Strange? Perhaps, but not altogether unpleasant.” 

They stared at each other for an unblinking minute before Lipwig broke the silence.

“If you want, I can take the chairman home with me. I hear growing up with a pet is good for kids. Besides, I don’t want you to get in trouble with your…the commander.” 

Vetinari looked down at the dog who was happily wiggling on his back on the carpet. 

“It’s fine for the night. Do come and collect him tomorrow, though. And now, don’t let me detain you.” 

Moist put his hat back on and nodded just as Drumknott entered the office through the other door. 

 _‘Yes, the firstborn is alway special.’_ Vetinari thought, watching Lipwig go before turning his attention to his secretary. 

"He really has come around, hasn't he?" Drumknott asked almost fondly.

"That he has. Although-"

"Sir?"

"He pocketed the crystal tumbler."

Drumknott closed his eyes and sighed.

“Did everything else go according to plan?” 

“Of course.”

Drumknott put another pile of reports on the table and straightened it. 

“Why did Ms Dearheart ask you to pass on the news? Not to be presumptuous, but I was under the impression she isn’t too fond of you.”

Vetinari smirked, “But I am rather convincing in my role as an all-knowing tyrant. I was a means to an end.”

“And what end would that be?” 

“Because she wants to see what he will do with the rest of today. It will tell her what kind of father he is going to be.”

Drumknott considered this. “But she married him, shouldn’t she know?” 

Vetinari shrugged. “Trust, but verify is a sensible policy.” 

On the floor, Mr Fusspot farted in his sleep. Drumknott wrinkled his nose. “I thought part of the deal was she, that is, Mr Lipwig would keep the chairman from now on?” 

“Just one more night. I’ll take him home with me.”

Drumknott raised his eyebrows. “You’re conducting a test of your own?” 

Vetinari looked up form his paperwork and beamed at his secretary. They worked next to each other in companionable silence when Drumknott suddenly said, “Sir, for what it’s worth, I’m happy for you.” 

Havelock looked up and smiled one of his rare sincere smiles. “Thank you.”

*~*

It was just after eight when Sam came home. He briefly acknowledged Havelock’s presence in the front room with a grunt before he stomped upstairs. The groaning of the pipes confirmed he had gone to freshen up. 

When he returned, he looked a lot less harassed and still slightly damp; the loose white shirt clinging to him in all sort of interesting ways.  

He was about to fall onto the couch next to Vetinari when he spotted the red leather collar and leash. He held them up between thumb and forefinger. 

“Is this a joke?” 

Havelock put his book down and raised his eyebrows. “I’m sorry?” 

Vimes licked his lips and opened and closed his mouth a few times before he found the right words. 

“Now, I remember you saying you-“ 

He stopped and sniffed before he dropped the items with a growl and opened the door to the office. Mr Fusspot trotted over to him from his spot under the desk where he had been sleeping on an old blanket to investigate the newcomer. Vimes allowed the dog to sniff him before he said, “Go back, you little flea bag.” 

He closed the door with a thud. “You are full of mischief today, your lordship.”

Vetinari bit his lower lip, grateful Sam couldn’t see his face from this angle. 

“Very funny,” Vimes growled again. “Have you had dinner yet?” 

Havelock looked over his shoulder. “I’m afraid I did because I had no idea when you’d be back. There is a plate for you in the oven.” 

Vetinari picked up his book again, expecting Sam to disappear into the kitchen which was why the shift of air behind his back came as a surprise. Sam’s lips were suddenly close to his ear. 

“Just for the record, when I agree to be your dog for a night, I’ll be the one who picks the collar and leash. Maybe it’s your little kink, but it will be on my terms.” 

He pressed his lips to the side of Havelock’s neck and disappeared into the kitchen before he had a chance to grab Vimes and pull him onto the couch. Vetinari’s trousers were uncomfortably tight by now, but he had no-one but himself to blame. He decided to accept this as punishment for trying to push Sam’s buttons. He rather liked this hitherto unknown side of the commander. What he liked even more was the prospect of Sam making good on his promise - he had said “when” not “if”. Maybe casually mentioning when his birthday was, wouldn’t be such a bad idea. He made a mental note.

The letterbox rattled. 

“Was that the mail?” Vimes called with his mouth full from the dining room.

Vetinari walked over to the door. “The _Times_ \- Evening Special.” 

Vetinari unfolded it without any hurry while Vimes ran over, brushing crumbs off his chin. He peered around Havelock’s shoulder and frowned when he spotted the headline. 

“Neighbour’s Nightmare Neutralised - apparition on Easy Street just another next door dispute. We didn’t make front page?” 

“Apparently not, disappointed?” Havelock flicked through the pages, scanning them as he went along. 

“That’s the wrong word for it,” Sam replied. “More like, surprised. If surprised always came with a healthy dose of paranoia. I wonder what they’re waiting for? Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want them to, but aren’t we prime gossip material?” 

“I should think so…ah, here we are. Oh, the editorial, that’s a nice touch. We-“ Havelock stopped and stared at the words. Once he had finished, he read them again just to be sure. **[2]**

“Well?” Sam snatched the paper out of Havelock’s unresisting hands. He scanned the page.  

“Yes, all true,” Sam shrugged and handed it back in the manner of a man who said, _“_ What are you going to do about it?” before breaking a bottle on the edge of the bar, ready for a fight. 

“You told her _that_?” Havelock asked, still gobsmacked. 

He had known, of course. Or maybe not known, but Vetinari was good at reading between the lines, and Sam’s in-between lines had been written in crayon letters as big as a house when he had left his family for him. After all, they were men of action rather than words because actions spoke louder. Why talk about feelings when you could just shove a man into the scorpion pit to get your point across, the point being, “I’m annoyed with you.”?

“No, I told Fred while she eavesdropped at the door, and I confirmed it with De Worde when he was in your office,” explained Sam while crossing his arms in front of his chest. 

“You told De Worde _and_ Sergeant Colon?” 

Vimes nodded. “I told Sybil too when she was here.” 

Vetinari put the newspaper down and stared at Sam before he carefully said, “And yet, you never told me.” 

“Not to split hairs, but neither have you.” 

No, he hadn’t and for good reasons. The truth could be terrifying and their relationship was still so new. 

Time for a distraction. Havelock cocked his head, “How about I show you?” 

Vimes voice dropped into a lower register as he pulled him into his arms. “Works for me.”

*~*

Much later when Sam’s head rested on Havelock’s tummy while long fingers combed through his hair, Vimes observed, “Everyone took it really well.”

“You expected something else?”

Sam braced himself on his elbows and looked up at Havelock. “Well, yes. I mean not an outright stoning, but I never expected people to be so…so…”

“Tolerant?”

“Happy! Happy for us of all people. I don’t know whether you noticed but we are not the most popular people in this city.”

Havelock chuckled as Vimes carried on. “I mean they are publicly endorsing our relationship. And, correct me if I’m wrong, but De Worde outright threatened anyone who tries to spread nasty rumours about our private life. I can sort of see why the Guilds smell an opportunity here, but everyone else? What’s in it for them, I wonder?” 

Vetinari shrugged. “It’s a new century. Female dwarfs, golem police officers, a reformed con-man, beloved by all, holding some of the most powerful offices in the city. Why not two men in love?” 

They stared at each other. 

“We are, aren’t we?” Sam half-asked, half-stated before he put his head back on Havelock’s stomach with a sigh, hands worming under Vetinari’s back, effectively hugging him. 

“Do you need me to say it?” Havelock asked. 

“Say what?”

“Do you need to hear the words?” 

“Oh, that. No. I know you love me.” Sam kissed his stomach. 

Vetinari snorted. “How can you say that so casually?” 

“I found out it gets easier with practice. Try it if you like, but I won’t hold my breath. Just, you know, tell me if it ever changes.” Vimes yawned, apparently completely at ease. 

 _‘Changes?’_ Havelock wondered. 

Oh, he had tried it. For a decade, he had tried to get John Keel out of his head and out of his heart, but it hadn’t worked. 

By the time he became Patrician, he had resigned to the fact he was one of those individuals who fixated on one person for life and that was it, a rare, true monogamist like a Tsortean lovebird. Only, unlike the avian equivalent, he had not died with his mate but carried on. 

However, instead of feeling sorry for himself, he had simply closed this part of his heart off and concentrated on Ankh-Morpork. It was a rather time consuming distraction, but it had worked. That was until Sam Vimes had stumbled into his life again and, little by little, the puzzle pieces fell into place. 

“Sam?”

“Hm?”

“Just to alleviate those fears because I don’t want you to worry unduly about nothing-“

“I can feel your heart racing,” Sam interjected. “Whatever it is, I won’t go spare, I promise.”

_‘Hold that thought.’_

Vetinari closed his eyes and spoke very slowly. “The chances of me ever feeling differently about you are pretty much zero. Because the first man I ever had feelings for thirty years ago and you are the same person.”

As expected, Vimes became very still for a few heartbeats.

“I understand that’s a lot to process,” Vetinari frowned at the ceiling, his whole body tensing. He had just bared his metaphorical throat to the wolf, daring him to tear it out. He couldn’t even remember when he had last been so reckless. Fear was something that usually happened to other people, but right now, Havelock Vetinari was afraid, and he didn’t like it one bit. 

However, life continued and all that happened was, Sam brushed his cheek against his skin a few times before he started to kiss his way up Havelock’s body until they were nose to nose.

Then, Sam looked into his eyes and smirked, “I had already worked that out, but thank you for confirming it.”

“Of course you had, my apologies.” It wasn’t often that the Patrician felt foolish. He could feel his face heating up. 

“Actually-“ said Vimes.

“Yes?”

“Sorry for the wait. I’ll try and make up for it over the next thirty years or so.” Sam kissed him.

 _‘So that’s what happiness feels like,’_ Havelock marvelled, embarrassment forgotten as he took Sam’s face in both hands. 

“I’ll hold you to that.” 

 

**The End**

 

 **1.** Harmoni’s Harp named after Deranged Lord Harmoni who had been Patrician some time after Lorenzo the Kind’s execution. Lord Harmoni had famously believed in angels singing secrets to him and installed a hidden winding staircase. The first version was constructed out of wood and lead directly to the corridor next to the Oblong Office. He wanted to make sure the angels could reach him whenever they felt like it without having to bother with the guards. Unfortunately, it wasn’t an angel paying him a visit once the building was complete. Deranged Lord Harmoni reigned for 47 days, equal to the amount of strings on a harp, hence Harmoni’s Harp. 

 

 **2.** It’s official - Amor Vincit Omnia

By William de Worde - Chief Editor 

As many good citizens are aware, there have been a lot of unconfirmed and, dare I say, salacious rumours recently about the private affairs of the Patrician, Lord Havelock Vetinari, and His Grace, the Duke of Ankh, Commander Sir Samuel Vimes. The argument could be made this is of no consequence to the public. However, the men in question perform important functions which impact our daily lives, and it is therefore regrettably nearly impossible to separate the private from the public. 

We here at the  _Times_ are and have always been but humble servants of the truth, and it is therefore my sincere pleasure to announce we were granted exclusive interviews earlier today to separate facts from fiction. 

His lordship and the commander, who have taken up joined residence in Small Gods, have confirmed to be in an exclusive and committed relationship since past Saturday evening after the commander’s amicable separation from Lady Sybil Vimes née Ramkin who shall remain Duchess of Ankh for life while their son, the Rt Hon. Samuel Vimes, will inherit the estate and all titles. 

The Patrician assured the  _Times_ this development will in no shape or form impact on the government or safeguarding of the city and its residence. This was further corroborated when the commander and his lordship agreed to sign a declaration in the presence of the head of the Guild of Lawyers, Mr Slant, and indeed, yours truly, which guaranteed neither man will interfere with any lawful investigation should either of them be implicated in any criminal activity. I’m sure we all agree this is a highly unlikely scenario, however, the act of compliance with the Guilds request elegantly demonstrates the integrity of the individuals involved.

And if this, dear reader, does not satisfy you, the commander confirmed this is very much a matter of the heart. He said, quote, “I love him. That’s the truth,” unquote. 

I very much hope this puts any unfounded rumours to rest and I feel that the last word has been spoken on this subject. However, should anyone feel otherwise, they are more than welcome to come forward, and you have my word as a servant of the truth, we’ll conduct a _thorough_ investigation concerning any evidence presented. Please bear in mind, this will also involve intensive background checks on the person or persons who accuse the Patrician and the commander of any wrongdoings. In accordance with our vouchsafed dedication to transparency, we will subsequently publish _all_ results that come to light during the enquiry. 

On a personal note, the staff of the _Times_ , Sacharissa Cripslock and myself would like to seize this opportunity to congratulate the Patrician and the commander and wish them all the best for the future. 

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. According to the famous biologist Chalk Rubin Durwin, humans - although creatures of habit - were also incredibly adaptable which had always puzzled Durwin because Dwarfs are about as flexible as a stratum of iron ore. Consequently, he had blamed it on all that unpredictable weather i.e. fresh air and sunshine.


End file.
